


Right By Your Side

by sconesandtextingandmurder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dean/Cas Reverse Bang, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Wolf!Cas, shifter!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-16 04:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14804156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/pseuds/sconesandtextingandmurder
Summary: Dean Winchester knows he's supposed to stay away from the river that serves as an enchanted barrier to the forbidden forest where the monsters live. After a fight with his father, he finds himself there anyhow, and discovers some new and unexpected friends.





	Right By Your Side

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time participating in the Reverse Bang and I'm so glad I did. I absolutely fell in love with [DragonPressGraphic's](https://dragonpressgraphics.tumblr.com) whimsical, snowy scene. Working with Nikki was a true collaboration and it was big fun to step outside of the things I usually write and try something new. Check out the lovely art masterpost [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14846750)!
> 
> Great big thanks to [zaphodsgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl) for helping me find my way when I was lost in the woods. Thank you also to [nickelmd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickelmd) for being an early reader and delivering a boost of confidence. As always, thank you to Jojo and Muse for a great challenge!

 

 

_There are monsters in the woods._

It was a lesson Dean Winchester learned when he was only four years old, a sacred truth taught to him by his father. To protect the town, an enchanted border ran along the river’s edge creating a barrier meant to keep the monsters out. But Dean knew better than anyone that the border was only an illusion of safety. Despite the wards and protections, a yellow-eyed monster had crossed it and crept into their house. There, it had killed his mother and set fire to the room where his baby brother slept.

John had moved his young sons away from the burned remains of that house. First, they’d moved to a house on the other side of their small village where he’d had neighbors and friends who’d helped the widower with his young sons. There, the boys grew old enough to go to school and make friends of their own, but their father began to have trouble with people who disagreed with his ways and the path he’d chosen after his wife had died. There were whispers and grumbles that he was spending too much time bent on revenge, too much time leaving his sons in the care of others. _Those boys have already lost one parent,_ Dean overheard one neighbor saying to another. When the grumbling turned into outright accusations and arguments, John packed up what they could carry and moved them to a house on the hill, about a day’s walk from town.   

“You’re old enough to take care of things,” John had told him, and Dean, just turned twelve, felt proud that he could take care of the house and his brother while their father did such important work. Most times, though, when John left with an encouraging lead, he returned home hours or sometimes days later sullen and reeking of whiskey.

Taking care of Sammy meant making sure his brother had breakfast to eat in the morning and that his warm fur-lined jacket was fastened tightly and that his mittens were laid to dry overnight in front of the fire. It meant making sure his chores were done and that he actually took his bath instead of splashing around in the tub behind the screen in the corner of the room. It meant staying away from the river and making sure his brother did, too. It didn’t feel like too much because Sam had been coming to Dean for things long before they’d moved from town, and Dean liked being there for him. He liked watching the smile cross Sam’s face as he learned to sound out his letters. He liked that D-E-A-N was the second word he learned to spell after S-A-M. He liked being the one who Sammy came to when he fell and scraped his knee or when he woke in the night crying, frightened by smoke-filled nightmares.

Dean didn’t miss town. He enjoyed the quiet where they lived and the way he and Sam were free to spend hours each day playing outside when their lessons and chores were done. The forbidden woods were visible from their little house, but Dean knew just how far he and Sam could safely go. As long as they stayed away from the river that ran in the valley behind their house, they would be safe. Besides, there was no reason even to wander that way since there was so much else to do closer to home. There were squirrels to chase and newborn fawns tottering after full-grown deer in the springtime, and summer brought berries to pick and trees to climb. In the fall, they’d crunched through paths carpeted with fiery-colored leaves and now, after the first hard frost, Dean checked each brisk morning to see if the flurries were going to stick.

Dean was content but, even after three years of living out here, Sam wanted more. He was eleven now and he missed being in town and going to school and having friends. It hurt Dean’s feelings that he wasn’t enough for Sam but he wanted his brother to be happy. He attempted to intervene with their father, mediating as best he could when the two of them argued, but John held firm, insisting that both boys needed to stay where they were. It became a frequent fight in the house and Dean found himself struggling to keep the peace between his brother and his father.

With winter approaching, Sam grew more antsy and the issue boiled over again. Dean tried to suggest that John take Sam with him to town, to give him the change of scenery he craved, but John laid down the law.

“Don’t encourage this foolishness, Dean. Your job is to keep him safe. I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”

Involuntarily, Dean found himself standing a little straighter. “Yes, sir, only—”

“No ‘only’. No exceptions. You do as I say.” John wasn’t so into his drink that he wouldn’t remember this in the morning and Dean knew there was only one response.

“Yes, sir.” He tried to meet his brother’s eyes so that Sam would know this wasn’t his choice, but his brother was having none of it. Instead of giving Dean the hint of a smile that said he understood, Sam’s face was hard with anger.

“You’re just as bad as he is!” Sam yelled, and ran off into their bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

John pointed an accusatory finger at Dean. “This is your fault. You’re supposed to be in charge of him.” He wheeled around, stalking off into his own room.

Dean stood by himself in the middle of the room, his hands clenched into fists. Then he pulled on his coat and stepped outside. He walked almost blindly, wanting nothing more than to get away. His brother didn’t want him around, his father was angry. Nothing he did was right.

The cold air of early winter felt sharp and clear, and he found himself heading down the hill into the valley, continuing until he came to a little copse of trees near the bank of the river. He knew he shouldn’t be down this way, but the trees shielded him from view, so he settled onto a fallen log and stared at the rush of running water. Although the sun wouldn’t set for an hour or more, the woods across the way looked dark and shadowy. There was nothing to see there, not this time of day, but even so, a part of Dean hoped that something evil would come and take him.

“Nobody would even miss me,” he said aloud, and felt slightly better for having voiced the thought. Thick chunks of bark peeled away from the log on which he sat and he picked one up and threw it as hard as he could into the water. It landed with a satisfying splash. He picked up another and another, getting to his feet so that he could throw each of them harder and harder, watching them send up sprays of water or bounce off of rocks. He threw one so hard that it skipped off a rock and landed on the far shore. Sweating from the exertion, he sat back down again, his breath coming hard.

Slowly he began to cool down, both his mind and his body. He stared into the water and tried to remember his mother’s smile and the soft waves of her golden hair. Gathering himself to start back up the hill to his house, he caught the slightest hint of movement out of the corner of his eye.

He wasn’t afraid, because whatever he saw was on the safe side of the river. Besides, he’d be sixteen in a few months and if John had taught him anything, it was how to defend himself. He sat perfectly still, watching and waiting until he caught the movement again, pinpointing it to a tangle of bushes gone brown for the winter. It was a wolf, Dean realized, not quite full-grown and nearly perfectly camouflaged by the bare branches. It was close enough that Dean could make out a patch of darker fur on the wolf’s chest. The two of them remained in a staring contest until the wolf backed slowly away out of sight. Dean sat for a little while longer but it didn’t return, so he eventually trudged back up the hill to his house.

Things with his family remained as frosty as the weather outside and in the coming days Dean found himself thinking about the peaceful spot he’d found near the river. He didn’t expect to see the wolf again since a wolf of that age off on its own would be a male, and it would be smart and clever and wary of humans. Nonetheless, on his very next visit, he again caught a flash of movement near that same bush. As he watched, the wolf crept out until his entire front half was exposed, making visible the crescent-shaped dark patch on its chest that told Dean it was the very same one. The wolf was skinny, but not dangerously so and, as it didn’t appear to be stalking him, Dean sat quietly and watched out of the corner of his eye. Remembering he had a scrap of bread in his pocket, Dean went to dig it out, but the sudden movement had the wolf skittering back out of sight.

Sighing, Dean ate the bread himself and made a plan.

The next time he came down to the river was the day after the first real snowfall of winter. He walked heavily, crunching along the snow-covered ground to announce his presence. When the copse of trees came into sight, he pulled a piece of bread and a bit of cheese out of his pocket so that he would have it at the ready. Before he took his usual place on the log, he scattered some of the food onto the ground in front of him. He was busily watching the bush where the wolf had appeared twice before when he heard a rustle come from another direction. Resisting the urge to whip his head around, he slowly turned toward the sound to see the wolf approaching, with his eyes on Dean but his nose to the ground. Dean bit his lip to stay silent as he watched it take a piece of food and then move with stealthy grace back into the brush.

 

 

It took a number of visits but each time the wolf grew a little bolder and crept a little closer, staying out in the open a little longer before eventually retreating. Dean knew they’d reached a turning point when, after eating the scraps Dean had brought, the wolf stood still for a long moment like it was making a decision, then settled onto the ground—in plain sight but out of reach—to groom himself.

The next time, the wolf stepped into the open as soon as Dean approached, watching intently as Dean laid out the food in a new pattern. As the wolf began to eat, Dean found himself speaking softly, not even sure of the words he spoke. In soothing tones, he encouraged it forward. “There you go, come on, I’m not going to hurt you. Just come a little closer and you’ll see. It’s all right.” The wolf lifted his head at the sound of Dean’s voice, blinking slowly and scenting the air before creeping close enough to take the first crumb of bread. Dean watched, holding his breath while the wolf tensed. He could feel it considering whether to run off with the food or come closer for more, and he slowly exhaled as it decided to stay. One by one, the wolf ate all the pieces Dean had placed, following the trail he’d created to where he sat. Each bite seemed to give the wolf more courage and by the time it was close enough to sniff at the food Dean held out, his posture was no longer crouched and coiled. Dean’s mittened hand trembled as the wolf sniffed it, but he continued to speak gently, the way he did when Sam sobbed with nightmares, and the wolf delicately ate the rest of the food directly from his hand.

Dean had never really expected this to work, and he found himself unable to suppress a gasp of surprise. Keeping his now-empty hand open, Dean admitted to the wolf, “That’s all I’ve got.” The wolf narrowed his eyes at him in a way Dean found more curious than threatening and then, to Dean’s surprise, it stuck his snout into the coat pocket where Dean had stashed the food in the first place. After getting out whatever crumbs were left, the wolf licked itself clean, sat down on the ground alongside Dean, and rested his chin on Dean’s leg. Dean’s heart was pounding so loudly that he thought it might scare the wolf away, but he gradually pulled off his mitten and eased his hand to the back of the wolf’s neck, letting his fingertips rest on the soft fur there.

The wolf responded by leaning his full weight against Dean’s side which Dean took as an invitation. He began to stroke the silky fur which was softer than he’d even imagined, a beautiful mix of greys and browns and white. From this close he could see the tip of the wolf’s tail was an inky black, the only other dark fur other than the splotch on his chest.

“I guess we’re friends now,” Dean said, delight causing him to speak at a regular volume. The wolf didn’t mind so Dean continued to talk as he pet it. “My name is Dean. I live up on the hill. I live with my brother and my father. How about you?” He knew it was senseless to ask the wolf questions, but somehow it seemed impolite not to.

He sat with the wolf until the sun began to sink behind the pine trees on the other side of the river at which point the wolf got to its feet and nudged Dean’s knee with its snout. “Yeah, ok, you’re right. Time to go. See you later!” He gave the wolf one last pat and they went off in their separate directions as a light snow began to fall.

Back in his house, Dean prepared the evening meal. He barely minded that the rest of his family ate mostly in silence, the only sound being spoons clinking against bowls as they finished the hot stew. More than once Dean dropped his hand to his knee, almost convinced he could still feel the warmth of the wolf there.

 

 

  


After that, whenever Dean visited the little copse of trees by the river, the wolf was already there waiting for him. Sometimes Dean tried to sneak up on him, but no matter how quietly he tried to creep down the hillside, he was no match for the wolf’s keen hearing and ability to scent. Dean would see him peeking around the edge of the trees, eyes bright as Dean approached. The wolf seemed to be anticipating his arrival, looking forward to his visits as much as Dean did. Together, they’d forged something comfortable and amicable, and Dean found himself talking easily, telling the wolf about his day. He told the wolf about his brother and how smart he was for his age, and he even confessed how frustrated he was with the tension in his house. Between Sam and his father arguing, and his brother’s newfound insistence on doing everything himself, Dean was either being dragged into the middle of things or shut out completely. Dean spent so much time trying to keep everyone happy that it was nice to have a place where he could complain a little. Knowing that the wolf couldn’t understand and wouldn’t judge him helped unlock the the words he’d been keeping inside and it turned out merely giving voice to the thoughts was enough to make Dean feel better.

Dean often brought a small treat of whatever he could spare from the kitchen. Cheese remained a favorite, but the wolf always turned his nose up delicately at the dried fruit. Now, as soon as Dean would sit down on the log, the wolf would take the treats then settle in beside him, nosing at his now-empty hand with his snout until Dean began to pet him. John wasn’t the type of father to hug his boys. He considered it coddling and said it would make them soft. Sam was too big now to tolerate the hugs he used to demand when he would climb into Dean’s bed, frightened as thunder crashed or John swore and slammed down an empty bottle in the front room. Dean remembered his mother lifting him high to see the moon on clear nights, the heavens expanding forever like possibilities. He could remember her heavily pregnant, happily explaining that he was going to be a big brother. When she could no longer lift him, she encouraged him to sit beside her, cuddled up close while he placed his small hand on her round belly to feel the baby kick. He didn’t realize how acutely he missed these moments of touch and connection until now.

With the warmth of the wolf against his leg, it was easy to keep talking. Without even realizing it at first, he found himself sharing these memories. He told the wolf of the stars like crystals in the velvet-black sky and the rough warmth of the wool blanket his mother tucked around them both when the heat from the fireplace didn’t reach the edges of the room. The wolf couldn’t possibly understand, but Dean felt like he listened. He rested against Dean’s leg as Dean talked, nudging him when, lost in thought, his hand stilled. Dean could never stay too long or visit too often, but each time the wolf stayed until Dean had to head back up the hill, blinking slowly and dipping his head in what Dean took as a farewell.

One day, when he was done with his chores, Dean decided to go down to the river. Sam had generally taken to closing himself in their room in the afternoons but today he found him outside, throwing snowballs at pinecones he’d set up on the gate.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked.

“Taking a walk,” Dean said.

“Can I come?” Sam missed the pinecone he was aiming at and Dean scooped up a handful of snow to show him how it was done.

“No.” The pinecone flew off the gate as the snowball found its mark, exploding in a flurry of white.

“Why not?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Half the time you don’t want me around and now you’re begging to tag along?”

Sam pressed more snow between his mittened hands, forming a smooth, hard ball. “I’m bored.” When his brother hesitated, Sam asked, “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why can’t I go with you?” He tossed the snowball up into the air, then caught it again.

Instead of answering, Dean busied himself making a snowball. He waited until Sam tossed his up again then flung his own to intercept it in mid-air. Sam’s eyes got huge as the snow fell down around him and, pleased that Sam wanted to spend time with him again, Dean couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out. “Ok, fine, you can come. I want to show you something but you have to be quiet and you can’t tell anyone.” Even though there was no one else there, he glanced around before adding, “It’s down by the river.”

“We aren’t supposed to go down there,” Sam said in a loud whisper.

“I know that, Sam. We’re not going all the way there. Just down that way.” He shrugged. “Unless you’re too scared…”

Sam was full of questions as they headed down the hillside, but Dean refused to answer, instead impressing upon his brother the need for quiet. He kept his eyes peeled as he followed the familiar trail, navigating the twists and turns with ease. When the copse finally came into view, Dean stopped on the backside of the clump of trees, telling Sam to wait. He moved carefully around to the front but when he arrived, there was no sign of the wolf.

The disappointment Dean felt at the wolf not being there was suddenly tempered with relief. He didn’t want to share this with Sam. He didn’t want the endless questions that were bound to come with it. He didn’t want Sam tagging along every time he snuck down here for a little bit of time to himself. He shared everything with Sam: his room, his food, the clothes on his back. He didn’t mind, truly he didn’t, but it was nice to have this one special thing just to himself. Spinning around he went back to where Sam was standing, waiting as Dean had instructed.

“This is the wrong place. It’s further this way.” Keeping a safe distance from the riverbank, he followed its course, leading Sam upstream toward another small thicket of trees. At random, he stopped under a tall pine tree and pointed upwards. “Sometimes I see a baby owl in that tree.”

Sam’s face lit up. “Really?”

Dean nodded solemnly. “But it scares easily. Maybe if we wait it will show.” There was a large flat rock, big enough for both of them and they sat there together, knees pulled up to their chins as they looked up into the branches. Sam got excited with each rustle and flutter, but of course no owl appeared. Dean kept a close watch of their surroundings, frequently looking back downstream, but there was nothing to indicate the wolf was nearby. He was getting ready to take Sam home when they heard the unmistakable snap of something stepping on a branch. They both turned their heads toward the sound to find a boy standing there.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

Surprised, Dean scrambled to his feet. Their nearest neighbor was about a mile away and as far as Dean knew, that house had been empty for a long time. Sam got up too, excitedly telling the new arrival about the baby owl.

The boy listened to Sam carefully then turned to Dean, staring at him instead of up into the tree where Sam was gesturing. “An owl? In the daytime?”

The boy looked to be about Dean’s age, but Dean couldn’t place where he’d seen him before. He was dressed for the weather in a coat made of coarse brown material but his head was bare, showing a shock of dark hair. He wore a scarf around his neck as well as what looked to be a piece of obsidian, a half-moon maybe, strung on a leather cord. When he saw Dean staring at it, he tucked it into his coat. Something about the motion made Dean feel defensive.

“I know an owl when I see one.”

The boy blinked slowly, like he was deciding how to proceed. “I believe you,” he finally said but Dean didn’t feel any better at having tricked him.

“What’s your name? Do you live around here? I’m Sam and this is my brother, Dean.” At the flurry of questions, Dean remembered why he hadn’t wanted to bring his brother here in the first place. To his credit, the boy didn’t seem put off by Sam’s enthusiastic attempts at conversation.

“Be quiet, Sam. No wonder the owl hasn’t shown.”

Stepping forward, the boy held out his hand. “Hello, Sam. Hello, Dean. My name is Castiel.”

Castiel had very blue eyes, Dean could see now, and he stared at Dean in a way that was slightly unnerving.

“Do you live around here?” Sam asked again and Castiel pointed upstream, in the direction of the neighbor’s house.  

“Not too far.”

“I haven’t seen you before,” Dean said. It came out a little bit hard, almost like an accusation. Dean didn’t like the idea of someone else wandering around down here. He was sure the reason the wolf hadn’t shown was because he’d brought Sam along, and now this was one more person adding to the noise and commotion that would most likely keep the wolf away.

Castiel didn’t seem to take any offense. “I haven’t seen you either.”

“We don’t go to school,” Sam said.

Castiel stopped staring at Dean to turn to Sam. “Why not?”

“Our father teaches us at home,” Dean answered, before Sam could. There hadn’t been much of what could be considered actual schooling lately, but Dean figured lore and weaponry counted.

“There are monsters,” Sam said solemnly.

“I’ve heard that as well,” Castiel answered, but he didn’t look too concerned.

“One of them—”

“Hush, Sam.” Dean didn’t need Sam telling this stranger all of their personal business. “We should go.”

Castiel looked at him again, his blue eyes unblinking. Instead of starting back up the hill, Dean found himself rooted to the spot, planted as firmly as the evergreens. Castiel glanced over his shoulder, then back at Dean and Sam. “Do you want to see a deer skeleton?”

Sam bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yes! Can we, Dean?”

Dean definitely wanted to see it, but instead of agreeing right away, he made a show of checking the position of the sun in the sky. “How far is it?”

“Not far. It’s just up that way, along the water’s edge.”

Relieved that it wouldn’t take them back toward the copse, Dean consented and they followed Castiel, ducking under low branches and leaping over small streams that flowed down the hill to meet the river. True to his word, Castiel led them to a place where the river had carved out an indentation in the bank, then retreated to leave an overhang like a ledge. They stood on it, peering down to the muddy surface below. Dean knew better than to jump down; it wasn’t safe to get that close to the warded water’s edge. He grabbed Sam’s arm when it looked like he was heading that way for a closer look.

Sam yanked his arm away. “I _know_ , Dean. I won’t go down there. I just want to see.”

Sure enough, while some of the skeleton had been scattered, perhaps washed downstream by the water, there were still visible and recognizable bones. The skull was submerged partially in mud next to the curved expanse of the rib cage, both picked mostly clean.

Sam seemed duly impressed and he wasn’t shy about asking Castiel a series of rapid-fire questions. “What do you think killed it? Was it a monster? I thought they couldn’t get over here. But a werewolf could kill a deer easy. Or a vampire could suck its blood out. I wonder how long it’s been here? What happened to the rest of it?”

Castiel stood silently, letting him speak. Sam was squatted down on the ledge and Castiel looked over, catching Dean’s eye, his face soft with amusement as Sam rattled on. It was a pleasant change not to be the recipient of Sam’s endless questions and Dean smiled at him, shrugging slightly.

“It wasn’t a monster,” Castiel reassured him. “It was just one animal hunting another animal for food.”

Sam straightened up. “What kind of animal? A bear?”

“I don’t think there are bears around here,” Castiel said.

“What else lives in these woods?”

Dean felt his heart stutter. What if people thought wolves were stealing livestock? What if they came into the woods armed with weapons? Of course wolves could—and _would—_ hunt and kill. But Dean’s wolf was nothing but gentle. Dean’s wolf wouldn’t hurt another creature. He knew this thought was silly because of course his wolf had to eat. It couldn’t go to the market or harvest a garden. He thought of it eating a chunk of apple from his hand. Dean was sure his wolf wouldn’t bother anyone so long as they left him alone. “Maybe it was a mountain lion.”

Castiel tilted his head, considering. “Perhaps.”

Dean checked the sun once again. “We need to go. It was nice meeting you, Castiel.”

“Likewise,” Castiel responded.

“ _Likewise_ ,” Sam repeated in a fancy accent. “See ya later!”

Dean corralled his brother toward home, but before they’d gotten too far, he stopped once to turn back and look over his shoulder. Castiel stood right where they’d left him, watching them go.

Sam chattered happily most of the way up the hill about the skeleton and Castiel and the owl. Dean mostly tuned it out, lost in thought. Despite his concerns about people in the woods scaring off the wolf, he had to admit that Sam seemed happier than he’d been in quite some time. Maybe being able to spend time with a friend would help to settle things at home. Making a decision, Dean stopped him when they got in sight of the house. “If you want to be able to go see Castiel again, then don’t say a word to Dad.”

“But we didn’t—”

“I know. But if Dad knows we were down there at all, there will be trouble.”

Sam stood a little taller. “Okay.”

“And no going down there by yourself.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I know that.” When Dean ruffled his hair, Sam shoved his hand away, annoyed. “I’m not a baby.”

There was a gap where Sam’s too-short coat sleeves didn’t meet the tops of his mittens. The skin there was red from cold, although Sam didn’t seem to mind. Dean looked him over. His boots were Dean’s old ones and Dean knew there were rags stuffed in the toes to help them fit, but the soles were sturdy and waterproof. For now his pants fit all right even though he had to tug them up to keep them on his skinny frame.

“I know,” Dean said. “I wouldn’t have brought you if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

Sam grinned at him. “Thanks, Dean.”

“You can thank me by washing the dishes after dinner.”

“Okay. I’m starving. I think that mountain lion had the right idea.”

 

 

  


After that, many afternoons were spent with Castiel as he and Sam and Dean explored the hillside, making a series of forts and bases in the woods. Some days, he and Cas sat on the big flat rock watching Sam practice with Dean’s slingshot, setting up targets to try to knock down with small rocks or pinecones. It was nice to sit and talk without Sam constantly interrupting. He learned that Cas had a big family with lots of brothers and sisters, and that he liked to come down to the woods where things were quiet.

Dean laughed, nodding toward Sam who was hollering, pleased at hitting a pinecone. “Hardly what I’d call quiet.”

Cas smiled softly. “It’s a different kind of quiet, I guess.”

Dean thought Cas was lucky because he had the freedom to come and go as he pleased. He imagined Cas and his siblings sitting around a big table at dinner time while their mother filled their plates and passed them around. He told Cas a little bit of what it was like at his house, the way he was mother and brother and son all wrapped up in one. It was hard to explain, but he tried because Cas had a way of sitting silently and letting him talk. Unlike John who would cut him off if he felt Dean wasn’t getting right to the point, Cas was endlessly patient, and Dean found that eventually he was able to put words to what he meant.

Sometimes, though, Dean went alone to the little copse of trees. He went there on days when even the thought of talking to Castiel felt like too much. He went when the winter nights were longest and his father lost himself in the bottle even more than usual. One night found John equal parts cruel and clingy, slapping Dean in anger one moment, then clutching him to his chest and crying the next. The next day, Dean sat in the cold on the fallen log, his face resting on his pulled-up knees. His cheek stung from his father’s hand and he stared, unseeing, out at the water. The wolf appeared, approaching comfortably like it hadn’t been weeks since the last time Dean had been there. He nosed at Dean’s pocket, but it was empty so he merely sat next to him in silent solidarity. When Dean lifted his head, the wolf narrowed his eyes, as if disapproving of what it saw. Dean touched his hand to his face and felt the heat of reddened skin.

“I’m fine,” he said and the wolf whined softly in return. “It’ll be better in a few days.” He wasn’t sure if he meant his face or his father, but either way it was most likely true. “It’s always bad right now.” He was much too old to cry, especially about something like missing his mom. She’d been gone for so many more years than he’d ever had her. But nonetheless, he felt hot tears filling his eyes and even though he blinked them away, one spilled over and ran down his injured cheek.

The wolf nosed at his jaw, then licked the tear away. Dean wrapped his arms around the wolf’s neck and cried into his soft fur.

*

He didn’t go back into the woods until the bruise on his face had completely faded. When it had, he left Sam at home and went to see the wolf. But he was only partway down the hill when he ran into Castiel instead.  

“What are you doing up here?” Dean was glad to see him, but he was much higher up from the river than where they usually met. Looking back over his shoulder, Dean could still see the tip of his roof through the trees.

Castiel shrugged. “I was hoping you’d come out.”

Dean let those words warm him, and smiled. “Here I am.”

Despite having said it, Cas didn’t look that happy and continued to stare at him, eyes searching. “How’ve you been?” he finally asked.

“Fine.” Dean continued down the hill leading Cas closer to the fort they’d built.

“How’s Sam?”

Dean whirled around. “He’s fine. Why are you being so weird?”

Cas’s held his gaze. “You were gone a long time.”

Dean rubbed a hand through his hair. This was too much to explain. He didn’t want Cas to look at him with pity, like he couldn’t take care of himself. “I was...busy. But I’m here now.”

Cas gave him the tiniest of smiles and Dean felt something inside of him relax. “Let’s go, then.” Before Dean could respond, Cas took off running down the path. Dean chased after him, awkwardly jumping over the rocks and uneven patches that Cas seemed to navigate effortlessly.  When he caught up to him, Cas’s face was flushed from the exertion and he smiled brightly.

Dean punched him in the shoulder, but Cas only shoved him back lightly. “What do you want to do?”

“Let’s work on our fort.”

The fort was mostly a lean-to they’d built up against the broad, sturdy trunk of an old oak tree. Tending to it took up a lot of their time and today’s task was to gather thin branches to patch a piece that had blown down in a recent storm. Once that was done, they sat inside it, listening to the rush of the river. Dean knew the days were slowly beginning to lengthen, but even though the change was coming almost imperceptibly, sitting there it felt like spring was just around the corner.

*

One late winter day Dean found himself with some extra time earlier than usual, and he headed to go meet Castiel. He made his way down to the fort, ducking under the branches that served as the door to wait for Cas to arrive. As soon as he entered, he realized the fort was already occupied. Inside, the wolf was sound asleep, curled up with his nose tucked under his tail. In his surprise Dean scrambled backwards, bumping his head on a branch. Awakened by Dean’s clamor, the wolf lifted his head and blinking sleepily at him.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked, as if the wolf could answer. The wolf got to his feet and came to sniff him hello. Dean patted him once, then glanced around the small space. He’d spent enough time in the fort that the wolf had probably tracked his scent, expecting to find him here. The wolf tilted his head, his eyes zeroed in on Dean’s every move. “You’ve got to go. My friend is coming.”

He wasn’t exactly sure why not, but Dean hadn’t told Cas about the wolf. He’d wanted to, but each time he’d started to bring it up, he’d stopped himself again. It wasn’t like he thought Cas would react strangely or somehow disapprove, but still it seemed best to keep it to himself. It was more about protecting the wolf, Dean had decided, as he only seemed comfortable with Dean, never appearing when Sam or Cas were around. The wolf asked nothing of Dean, content to sit quietly next to him, keeping him company, letting him talk. Dean tried to repay him with treats when he could but it felt like respecting that trust was the most important thing he could do. A wolf who was this friendly to humans—or even just to one human—was both rare and special. Dean could see past the sharp claws and teeth to the gentle creature it was, but other people might not give him that chance. Better to keep him a secret, safely hidden away from those who would see him as a threat and a danger.

“Wait right here.” The wolf made no move to follow him as Dean ducked back out and checked the surrounding area, confirming the coast was clear before returning to where the wolf waited.  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.” Dean stepped toward the door, looking at the wolf expectantly but all the wolf did was sit back down and start to scratch behind his ear. Dean heaved a big sigh. “Come on. We need to get out of here. I know you don’t understand but—” he went silent, thinking he’d caught the sound of a footfall, but a moment of listening produced nothing more. “Come on,” he said again, then whistled and patted his leg like he was calling a dog. Realizing how ridiculous that was, he stopped mid-pat and, if he wasn’t mistaken, the wolf actually looked a little insulted. Changing tactics, Dean left the fort and started to walk downstream, hoping the wolf would follow him toward the copse of trees where they usually met. To his relief, the wolf stepped out into the sunshine but instead of continuing along after Dean, it turned and took off in the other direction, quickly disappearing from view.

Shoulders slumped, Dean watched it go. Only a few minutes passed before Cas arrived, walking along the river bank. “Hello, Dean. I didn’t expect you’d be here yet.”

“Lotta that going on,” Dean muttered to himself. “Hi, Cas. I got here early.” He looked back toward where the wolf had gone.

Cas approached him, turning in the same direction. “Is something there?”

“No,” Dean said hurriedly. “I mean, why? Did you see something?”

Cas stood so close to him that Dean could see the way each dark eyelash framed the deep blue of his eyes. Winter hadn’t yet retreated, but today was warmer and Cas’s jacket wasn’t fastened all the way. Against the white of his shirt, Dean spied the cord with the piece of obsidian hanging around his neck. He was intrigued by the way it looked both solid and delicate and he longed to touch it, to see if it was rough or smooth, and to feel the weight of it in his hand.

“Cas…” he began, eyes on it, but Castiel stepped backwards and pulled his coat more closely around him.

“It’s getting chilly,” he said. A low bank of clouds had rolled in to blot out the sun and the temperature had dropped. “More snow is coming.”

It was. And Sam had continued to grow throughout the winter. The last few weeks of warmer weather had tricked Dean into believing that he had the better part of a year to figure out how to get a new, bigger coat for him. Feeling the bite of the gusting wind. there was no denying that these days had been a mere respite from the cold. He didn’t mention any of that, though, and only gestured to the shelter of the fort.  “Let’s go in.”

 

 

  


Dean pulled the blanket a little more tightly around him as he headed down the back slope. It was harder to navigate the snow-covered terrain with one hand holding it in place, but it felt good to get outside after days stuck close to home while the late season blizzard raged. As lingering flurries swirled in the air, his face ached with the bitter cold and his footsteps crunched and squeaked on the snow, loud enough that the wolf met him as soon as the copse was in sight. Together they went into the relative shelter of the trees where Dean took a moment to brush the accumulated snow off of the log so that he had a clear place to sit. Instead of settling beside him, the wolf stood at his feet staring, then gently tugged at the edge of the blanket with his teeth.

“You want some?” Dean extended one arm, displaying his layers underneath then shivering as the cold air rushed in. The wolf pulled at the blanket again, this time encouraging him to wrap himself up and Dean happily did. The wolf narrowed his eyes, and Dean tried to reassure him. “I look different, huh? Sam outgrew his coat, so I gave him mine. It’s no big deal.” Sam had tried to refuse it but Dean had insisted. He could handle being a little cold now and then, especially with spring right around the corner.

The wolf moved closer, settling into his regular place where he could press up against Dean’s side. Dean leaned into the warmth and together they sat quietly watching the snow drift through the air. When the wolf began sniffing, Dean roused from his dazed state. “Oh, I brought you something. It’s slim pickings at my house but I managed a few scraps.” He reached into a pocket. “Dad drank his way through the storm so there’s not much coming in right now, but I’m sure he’ll be back on his feet soon. And Sam’s always looking for something eat these days. He could probably eat you for a snack right now.” The wolf let out a small sound that Dean decided to interpret as a scoff. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him.” He held out what he’d brought. “You take this potato. I’ll eat the dried apricots since I know you don’t like those.” He popped one into his mouth, chewing it slowly to savor it. The wolf sniffed at the potato but didn’t eat it. “C’mon, boy. That’s for you.”

Dean heard his own stomach make a loud rumble. He could go a long time without eating but as soon as he had a little bit of something, his body decided it wanted more. He held the potato out again but this time the wolf pushed his hand away, nudging it with his snout. “I’ll keep them in separate pockets next time,” Dean promised, before gratefully eating the potato himself.

Dean liked to sit here by the river with the wolf at his side. The snow blew down in powdery bursts from the branches and bits of ice caught the sunlight as they broke off and were carried downstream by the sluggish current. Even the woods across the way looked almost welcoming when the rest of the world felt so peaceful and serene.

Sitting there gave Dean the time to think, to delve into his thoughts in a way he never seemed able to do when he was anywhere else or with anyone else. It gave him the time and the luxury to think past his concerns about his dad or how he’d scrounge enough from the pantry to last a few more meals for his brother. It gave him the time to forget that he was wrapped in a blanket because he no longer had a warm coat.

It gave him time to think about Castiel.

Obviously, he thought about Castiel plenty of times. He was Dean’s friend and they spent countless hours together in the woods. They walked and they talked and sometimes they sat quietly in the midst of nature just like Dean was doing right now. Castiel was smart and knowledgeable and he was kind to Sam. He listened to Dean when he talked, listened with an intense focus that left Dean feeling like he was the most important person in the world. He never made Dean feel like he should be doing more; in fact, the few times Cas ever spoke firmly to him were in response to Dean putting himself down. He’d quickly corrected Dean when he said things like Sam was the smart one in the family or when he blamed himself for his father’s yelling. While he hadn’t told Cas everything—Dean rubbed at his upper arm which bore fingerprint bruises from his father’s latest outburst during the storm—he’d opened up a bit about his father’s temper and his mother’s death. He talked and Cas listened, never looking disgusted or, worse, full of pity.

In return, Cas told him bits and pieces of his own life. How his parents were busy with their own lives and suspicious of the outside world. How his brothers mostly ignored him, unless they were teasing him. Cas knew he was different from the rest of his family, content to do quieter things, content to be alone. It used to bother him a lot more, he told Dean almost shyly one afternoon, but ever since that day he met Sam and Dean he didn’t mind nearly as much.

Dean and Cas had been sitting side by side on the big rock by the fort when he said that, Dean keeping an eye on Sam as he played. Even though Cas had talked about meeting both of them, the words had made Dean’s face flush. It was at that moment that Dean realized he wanted Cas to feel that way about _him_. He wanted Cas to look forward to seeing him the way Dean found himself counting down the hours until he could slip away into the forest. He felt lighter, somehow, each time he caught sight of Cas patiently waiting for him. Sometimes at night when he couldn’t sleep, he thought about the way Cas smiled when he greeted Dean, his blue eyes lighting up. He knew for sure something had changed in the months he’d known Cas, but what he didn’t know was how to find out if Cas felt the same way.

 

  


The next day he bundled up, leaving the blanket behind. He went to meet Cas, but Cas wasn’t there. Thinking maybe the storm had thrown off everyone’s routine, Dean waited patiently near the fort, but eventually he decided to wander downstream. The wolf wasn’t there either and, feeling apprehensive, he trekked back to the fort for one last check, but there was still no sign of Cas. Granted, Dean didn’t get time to come down here every day, but he realized with a sick feeling in his stomach that this was the first time Cas hadn’t shown. Even though nothing else seemed unusual—the birds still flew from branch to branch calling out and singing as the ice-choked river gurgled and splashed as it always did—being here alone made Dean feel wary, like the trees were suddenly too close together. Across the way, the forbidden side looked ominous and still, as if it were watching him. Moving quickly, Dean made his way home.

Sam joined him the next afternoon, wearing Dean’s coat. The too-long sleeves were rolled up but Dean much preferred that to the uncovered skin Sam’s old coat exposed and he shrugged off Sam’s offer to give it back.

“I’m fine,” he assured him. He hadn’t told Sam about the day before, and he surely wasn’t about to admit to being frightened in the woods alone. Luckily, it hadn’t taken much convincing today to get Sam to come with him.

Dean found himself holding his breath as they neared the spot, letting it out in a rush when he saw Cas waiting. He actually jogged the rest of the way to him, slapping him on the shoulder. “Hi!”

Cas smiled back, but his look was measured as he took Dean in. Before Dean could decide whether or not to ask where he’d been, he said. “My aunt came to visit. She brought some things but...she doesn’t know us well so I can’t use them. Maybe you could?” He gestured for them to follow him into the fort where he began to dig through a bundle, pulling out something made of cloth and fur. “She brought this for me but it’s too small. I thought maybe it would fit Sam? It belonged to my cousin so it’s not new but…”

Sam looked to Dean, making sure he had his permission before reaching for the coat, holding it up to admire. It may not have been new but it was in excellent shape and Dean noted with satisfaction the warm lining and sturdy design.

“Thanks, Cas! I love it!” He peeled off Dean’s coat and thrust it at him, eager to put this one on. It fit him well, perfect for keeping him warm in the chilly days now but with enough room to grow for next year. Dean happily put on his own coat, still warm with Sam’s body heat. He fumbled with the clasps, suddenly overcome by emotion and the relief that flooded through him at having this problem so unexpectedly solved.

“Also,” Cas continued, reaching into the bag again. “She brought us more fish than we could eat before it goes bad, so I wrapped some up for you. And these rolls.”

Dean took the package of fish while Sam took the rolls. “Thanks, Cas,” Sam said again, but Dean didn’t trust his voice.

“Let’s go have a picnic.” Cas led them out of the fort and they went to the large flat rock that served as seat and table all in one.

The fish was flaky and tender. After he’d eaten some of it, Dean reached for a roll. It was golden brown and studded with currants and raisins, the sweetness of it in marked contrast to the salty flavor of the fish. Dean watched as Sam ate heartily, then got up to play. Cas ate some of the fish, but his roll was mostly uneaten and he passed it to Dean.

“You don’t want it?” Cas had plucked a few bits of the bread from the underside, leaving all the fruit intact.

He shook his head. “Not my favorite.”

“Your loss,” Dean said lightly, but he was happy to have it. When he was finally full, he let himself lay back on the rock.

Cas peered down at him. “Good?”

“Good.”

Dean was struck by the urge to take Cas by the hand and pull him down alongside of him, to feel the warmth of him stretched out by his side. As if he could read Dean’s mind, Cas lay down beside him without prompting. They weren’t quite touching, but Dean was aware of exactly where he was, his closeness both distracting and exhilarating.

“Dean! Cas! Come on!” Dean pushed himself up on his elbows to see what Sam wanted. He’d devised a game of jumping around from rocks to logs, trying never to let his feet touch the ground. It looked like fun but with Cas there beside him, Dean felt like he shouldn’t engage in childish pursuits. Besides, he didn’t want to get up now, not with Cas so close.

“I should be practicing my targets,” he said instead. “My dad is going to let me come along with him on some hunts.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He said I’ve learned enough that pretty soon I can start to come with him.” Cas’s mouth twisted a little at that, like he’d tasted something sour. Dean knew he’d mentioned his dad yelling at times, but it wasn’t Cas’s place to judge that. “He’s not scared of anything.”

“What will you hunt?”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s always trying to find the yellow-eyed one but anything on that side of the river is fair game.”

Cas suddenly sat back up casting a cool shadow over Dean who scrambled to sit up as well. “Is that so?”

Dean looked at him, confused. “You said yourself your parents warned you about the monsters on the other side of the river.”

His eyes blazed. “That they did.” Before Dean could say another word, Cas got to his feet and fastened his coat more closely around his throat. “I have to go.”

Dean blinked. “Okay.” Everything was happening so fast and almost blindly he reached for Cas’s wrist. “Thank you again.”

Cas stared at Dean’s hand for a long moment. “You’re welcome.”

Dean let go and watched him walk away, unsure of what had happened.

A moment later Sam sprinted over. “Where did Cas go?”

“He had to leave.”

“He never goes home first.”

“Well, today he did. Let’s go.”

Dean walked back up the hill feeling colder than he should in his warm coat.

*

All that night Dean worried about what he’d done wrong. He replayed their conversation over and over again, focusing on the way Cas had gone from lying there relaxed to angrily rushing off. Maybe Dean hadn’t been thankful enough for the gifts Cas had brought. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to hear about hunting and monsters. Maybe he’d somehow sensed that Dean had been thinking about him in ways that were more than just friendship. Maybe it hadn’t been Dean at all and Cas had just been having a bad day. His aunt had come to visit, maybe his free time was limited. Dean’s mind whirred as he tried to come up with a reasonable justification for the rapid change in his behavior, but none of the explanations seemed to fit. After lying awake for hours, he finally decided on a plan of action. Instead of turning whatever had happened into a big deal, he’d simply go back the next day and see how it went. If things were back to normal and Cas was friendly as always, he’d write it off as a one-time thing. At the same time, he made a promise to himself to keep his feelings well hidden. He couldn’t risk giving off signals that might chase Cas away again.

By the time he got to the fort the following afternoon he was breathless, his nervous anticipation mixing with the exertion of the trip. He waited for awhile, nerves jangling as each minute passed, but Cas didn't show. He walked a little ways upstream, past the place where they’d gone to see the deer skeleton on the very first day they’d met, but the woods seemed nearly impenetrable and he turned back toward the fort, worried he might miss Cas in passing otherwise. He waited and he waited and when it became clear Cas wasn’t coming, he trudged downstream to sit on the fallen log instead. Almost immediately the wolf appeared from the bushes, but he hesitated, not approaching Dean like he usually did. Dean smiled, some of the tension in his chest easing. “Hey, boy.“

But the wolf slunk toward him instead of readily padding over. “What is it? Is something here?” Concerned, he looked around. While there was nothing out of the ordinary that he could see or hear, given how keen the wolf’s senses were, he knew that didn’t mean anything. Eventually the wolf took his regular spot next to Dean, although he remained on alert, sitting up tensely, not leaning against him as he generally did. Together they stared at the river, Dean keeping vigilant for anything unusual across the water even as the sinking feeling of things having gone wrong with Cas settled over him again.

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “I think I did something wrong,” he said. The wolf’s ears twitched and the hackles on his back lay flat. “I’m not sure what I did but Cas is mad at me. If i knew what it was, I could tell him I’m sorry but I don’t know what to do if he won’t talk to me. I think maybe...he’s just tired of me. He’s so smart and I just...I only know what I know.” The wolf nudged at him and Dean stroked his fur, taking a little bit of solace there.

Every day that week Dean told Sam to stay close to home while he went back to look for Cas. Day after day, he didn’t show and each time Dean trekked back to sit with the wolf. His heart was heavy with the things he hadn’t been able to say to Cas and he poured them out to the wolf. He told of how much better his days had been since they’d first stumbled upon Cas in the woods. He confessed that he didn’t even want to go hunting with his dad, how he’d only said that to try to impress Cas somehow. He’d thought that was the life for him, that following in his father’s footsteps was his only path but the truth was that he didn’t want to hunt and kill. He liked the way Cas listened so thoughtfully, like everything Dean said was important. Somehow it made Dean want to try harder and do better, to be worthy of the way Cas saw him. He liked making Cas laugh, liked the way his whole face crinkled up with glee. He told the wolf all of this and how scared he was that they would never have those moments together again. He told him how much he regretted not being enough for Cas to keep coming around.

A storm was coming, but this time it would be rain, Dean knew. The air was heavy with moisture and a warm wind blew from the south.

“I just want things to go back to how they were,” Dean said softly. “I miss him.”

The wolf let out a mournful cry.

 

  


The next day, neither Cas nor the wolf were there.

It had rained hard overnight and the snow was slushy where it hadn’t washed completely away. The bare branches were softening with the beginnings of buds and a rich chorus of birdsong filled the air. Dean had looked forward to spring, to spending time with Cas in warmer weather as the forest came back to life, but now he knew there was nothing left for him here.

Back at the house, he told Sam that they were done going down to the river. They’d managed it this long without getting in trouble, but Cas was gone now and they needed to stay away like they’d been told. Sam argued with him, saying that Cas was probably just busy and that he’d be back. But Sam hadn’t seen the way Cas looked at Dean the last time they were together. He hadn’t seen the anger on his face or the abrupt way he’d left.

Sam wouldn’t let it go and continued to harp on the issue until Dean finally snapped and told him what had happened. Unable to meet Sam’s eyes, he explained that Cas didn’t want to be around him any more. Sam listened, then shrugged. “So go apologize.”

Dean shook his head. He was so tired. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

“I thought Cas was your friend.”

“He was. He is. It’s just….you wouldn’t understand.”

Sam put his hands on his hips. “I understand you’re being dumb. Just go talk to him.”

“I don’t want to talk about this any more.”

“What if he’s down there right now waiting for you?

“Leave it alone, Sam.” Dean stomped off before Sam could say another word. He wanted to talk to Cas, wanted to with every fiber of his being, but even if Cas were to appear and give him the chance, he didn’t know if he could make things right. Maybe Cas would look at him with his face curled in disgust, like he was trying to figure out which thing Dean was going to apologize for. Like there was a list too big to choose from.

Dean told himself it was time to move on, so he went to his father and asked to come along on his next hunt. It took some convincing before John was willing to leave Sam on his own, but he finally relented and agreed to let Dean accompany him for a day trip. They would leave early in the morning, before dawn, and be back in time for dinner.

“You know the rules,” John told Sam as they stood in the doorway. Dean shifted the weight of the pack on his shoulders and tried not to yawn. Sam was plenty able to take care of himself for one day and he nodded, rubbing at one eye.

“Yes, sir.”

Dean followed John out the front door.

It turned out hunting itself was sort of dull. There was a lot of walking, squelching through the mud left by days of rain. But his father kept him close, talking to him frequently, pointing out signs and clues. Dean didn’t even mind being quizzed because it felt good to have his father’s attention and be treated like an adult. The enthusiastic slap on the shoulder he got by correctly identifying coltsfoot and its use in hex bags made up for the heaviness of the weapons he carried and the miles of trudging. It was almost enough to push down that feeling that kept creeping up, the one that reminded him how much he would rather be with Cas down in the woods. The one that wanted to sit quietly with Cas beside him, watching the world instead of stalking through it looking for things to kill. Everything about those thoughts was wrong, he knew. He should want to avenge his mother’s death. He should want to carry on the family tradition of hunting, and when it came time to settle down and start a family of his own, he should find a woman to fall in love with. He should forget about Cas the way Cas had forgotten about him. He was so lost in these thoughts that he didn’t realize his father had stopped walking and he stumbled to a halt, jostling John’s arm and the weapon he had raised.

“Dammit, son!” His father’s face was hard and angry and Dean felt the familiar cold disappointment seeping in. “I thought I saw something but your carelessness scared it away.”

 _Good,_ Dean thought. He didn’t want to kill anything. “Sorry, sir. I lost my footing in the mud.”

John spent a long moment squinting in the direction he’d been aiming, then he sighed heavily. “We should head back.”

Dean checked the position of the sun. There was plenty of daylight left and Dean needed the time to prove himself worthy of being brought along. “We could still—”

“I said we’re through here.”

They walked back in silence with Dean scrambling to keep up with John’s long, confident strides. The exhaustion of the early start seemed to settle into Dean’s bones and he walked with his head down, longing to put the day behind him. At last they arrived home and Dean dropped his pack inside the door. He was cold, hungry, and looking forward to the supper Sam had promised to have waiting for them. Dean knew they’d returned earlier then they’d planned, but the house was empty and there was no sign of any cooking having been started. Moving back outside, they checked the area around the house, calling for Sam. When there was no response, John, still armed, began to take on a grim expression.

“I…I think I know where he is,” Dean said.

“Where?”

Dean gestured to the woods behind back of the house. “We play down there sometimes.”

“Take me there.” It was an order and Dean sprang into action leading his father down the muddy paths toward the fort. He tried to stay calm. Even if Sam had gone to look for Cas, he knew enough to watch the sun and come back home in time to meet them. He searched the woods as they walked and, while nothing seemed out of place, fear nonetheless rippled through Dean at the thought of something bad happening to Sam. The scariest thing he’d ever seen back here was the wolf, who’d turned out to be gentle and not a threat, but maybe there were other wolves who weren’t so friendly. Or maybe his wolf had somehow turned on Sam. Aware of the shotgun his father was carrying, Dean’s blood ran cold.

Dean’s breath came a little easier as the fort came into view. He called out Sam’s name, but there was no answer. Ducking inside confirmed that it, like their house, was empty. If he hadn’t met Cas here, where would he have gone? Dean wracked his brain, trying to think as the panic of not being able to find his brother left him nearly dizzy. Upstream, he decided. Toward where Cas said he lived. The sloppiness of the mud made it hard for footprints to form, but he thought he saw traces in that direction.

“This way,” he said, leading his father closer to the river bank.

“What the hell are you boys doing down here? You know better than to come near the river.”

There was no response that would satisfy his father, so Dean stayed silent, pushing aside branches as they moved forward. He called for Sam, but the roar of the storm-swollen river seemed to swallow his voice. He was almost to the place where they’d first seen the deer skeleton, that carved out area on the river’s edge, when he caught sight of something moving up ahead. A moment later Sam appeared, perfectly fine and walking toward them. Dean’s shoulders sagged in relief as his brother smiled and waved an arm in greeting, stopping suddenly when their father appeared at Dean’s shoulder. Knowing he was in trouble, Sam’s face fell and he began to hurry in their direction. As he ran across the grassy overhang, Dean watched in disbelieving shock as it collapsed underneath him and he fell into the water.  

“Sam!” he cried out, frozen in place as his father pushed past him. Sam scrambled in the water, trying to get his footing in the mud, but the river swept him off his feet and his arms flailed as the current took him downstream. In the span of a breath he was carried past where Dean stood, finally breaking Dean out of his paralysis. He ran to follow, catching a glimpse of Sam’s terrified face, his wet hair plastered against his pale skin. Dean kept his eyes fixed on him as he bobbed in the water, but he lost sight when Sam's head disappeared below the surface. He searched frantically, desperate for any glimpse of him, knowing that in the freezing cold water Sam’s new, warm coat would work as an anchor, dragging him down. Dean found himself holding his own breath until Sam resurfaced, gasping for air as the water churned rough and wild around him. Any relief Dean felt at spotting him quickly evaporated as the current again pulled Sam away, pitching him toward a tangle of logs and branches that had collected near the far bank. He was getting further away by the moment, but Dean cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled as loudly as he could for Sam to grab hold of a branch. When the whirling current spun him around, Sam reached out, arms windmilling until one hand closed around a thin branch. Despite the handhold, the river continued to wrench him downstream, pulling at his legs until he was nearly horizontal in the water. His face contorted with effort, Sam yanked his other arm out the sucking current, stretching further and further to finally get both hands safely around the branch. As Dean watched, time seemed to slow while the branch bent, curving almost gracefully in his grasp, before snapping under the pressure. Dean screamed in frustration as Sam lost his hold and the river took him once more.

Dean clenched his own hands into fists, the nails threatening the break the skin of his palms. He couldn’t look away, forced to watch his brother now on a collision course with a fallen tree, large enough to crush his skull if the water tossed him against it. Sam was facing away from it, huge, terrified eyes locked on Dean who pointed frantically, yelling nonsense because he couldn’t catch his own breath. At the very last second, the current turned him and Sam ducked, reaching up an arm to shield his face.

If Dean never believed in miracles before, he did now because somehow Sam managed to get that arm around the trunk and even as the water tried to suck his head down under it, he got his other arm up as well. Inch by inch he pulled himself up until he was able to support his chest on the log, and he lay there gasping, his cheek pressed against the bark.

Dean and John scrambled until they were parallel with him, looking across the yards of rushing dark water that separated them. Although neither of them could swim, it didn’t stop Dean from trying to climb down off the bank, desperate to get into the water and go to him. He was stopped when his father grabbed him and hauled him back to safety.

“Let me go!” He tried to twist out of his father’s grip, but John held tight.

“Stop it, Dean.” His father was looking past Sam and into the woods. “We have another problem.”

John let him go and in the waning light Dean could see a pair of glowing eyes approaching from the dense forest. He hadn’t given a thought to the fact that Sam was now exposed to the other side of the river, shivering and clinging and vulnerable to whatever saw him as easy prey.

They watched in horrified silence until the creature emerged, slinking low to the ground. A wolf. Dean’s heart thudded in his chest as he heard his father cock the shotgun. “Get away from him!” John yelled.

At that, the wolf lifted its head and Dean could clearly see the dark patch on his chest.

“Dad, no!”

The wolf crept to the water’s edge, sniffing in Sam’s direction.

“Get away!” John yelled again.

“Dad!” Dean grabbed at his arm to try and stop him, but his father lashed out and shoved him to the muddy ground before raising the gun up again. Dean staggered to his feet as the wolf jumped into the water and began to swim towards Sam. He scrambled, feet slipping, and pushed again at his father to stop him from shooting.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Dean let go but only to position himself between his father’s gun and the wolf. John blinked at him, his face furious as they remained in a tense standoff.

“Just wait,” Dean said, praying he was right about what would happen next. When John’s anger turned to confusion and he reluctantly let the gun fall to his side, Dean spun around to watch as the wolf moved closer. “It’s ok, Sammy!”

The wolf swam over to Sam, treading water in the strong current. Sam stared wide-eyed as the wolf sniffed at him once then licked his cheek.

“Grab onto him!”

Shaking from the cold, Sam did, releasing one arm and then the other to wrap around the wolf’s neck. The wolf waited patiently until Sam had a secure grip and then began to swim across the river toward Dean. Sam did his best to kick his feet and help propel them, but Dean could tell that he was exhausted.

“I’ll be...” he heard his father say softly.

When they approached the bank, John and Dean waded carefully into the water to help pull Sam out. From here, Dean could see Sam’s face was stark white and his lips were blue with cold. Sam’s eyes fluttered and then drifted closed as John lifted him, carrying him up onto solid ground. Dean and the wolf clambered up after them, and Dean turned to hug the wolf, but stepped back when he shook, spraying the excess water from from his fur. The wolf’s form blurred as it shook and, as Dean watched in amazement, it seemed to rise upwards, lengthening and growing until Cas stood before him. He looked the way he always did, like he’d just stepped out of the woods to meet them. He was perfectly dry, wearing his usual clothes and coat, with the obsidian around his neck.

John stood in silence, too stunned even to warn Dean away.

Dean should be shocked. He should be scrambling backwards to put some distance between them. Instead he found himself springing forward to gather Cas into his arms. “Thank you,” he said, clutching Cas to him. After a long moment, Cas hugged him back.

Finally, John found his voice. “What are you?”

Dean let him go, but stood half in front of him as they both turned to face his father. Cas stared at him, clear-eyed. “I’m a shifter.”

John’s eyes flicked to the other side of the river. “How did you get over here?”

Cas hesitated before answering. “There are no enchantments. Our people—and many others that you would kill on sight—have lived in peace with humans for generations. We are not monsters and the only thing we fear are those who don’t understand that.”

“My wife was killed by one of you.”

Cas’s voice never wavered as he spoke. “There are individuals among us who do evil, just as there are murderous humans. My mother told me what happened to your wife and the way our community mourned her loss as well, but we ask that you don’t judge us all based on the actions of one.”

Sam roused, lifting his head and opening his eyes. “Hey, Cas,” he said, before his teeth began to chatter.

“I need to get him home and warm,” John said, then took a deep breath. “Thank you for saving my boy.” He looked at Dean curiously and that’s when Dean realized he was holding Cas’s hand. Instead of dropping it, he squeezed it a little tighter. All his father said was, “Don’t be long.”

They stood together until John and Sam were out of sight.

“I wanted to tell you,” Cas said, a little shyly. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

It made sense now, why Cas had pulled back after Dean had talked about hunting. If only he’d been able to tell the truth to Cas, to let him know how he really felt. “Cas, I need to tell you…” He tried to gather his courage. This was his chance to confess everything he’d only been able to tell the—”Wait, you already know!”

A smile crept across Cas’s face. “You can tell me again.”

“How about I show you instead?” Grinning, Dean leaned close enough to kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the [Eurythmics song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wwHwNTyCrPw) of the same name.


End file.
